"You silly child," said Loftus, "you heard a rabbit scuttling home. Here, take my arm, and let us all get home as fast as we can. Why, you are trembling from head to foot. You are tired out, that's it. Take her other arm, will you, Kate?"
"They say Rosendale is haunted," panted Mabel.
"Folly! Don't listen to such rubbish. Your rabbit was hurrying to bed, and was as much afraid of you as you of it."
"It—it wasn't a rabbit," said Mabel. "Rabbits don't sigh."
"Oh—sighs only belong to ghosts?"
"I don't know. Don't laugh at me, Loftie. I heard a real sigh and a rustle, and something white flashed."
"Then you flashed back to us. Never talk of being a brave girl again, May."
"Let us walk very quickly," said Mabel. "It was just there I saw it. Just by that great clump of Lauristinus. Don't let us speak. There, that's better. I own I'm frightened, Loftie. You needn't laugh at me."
Loftus Bertram had many faults, but he was not ill-natured. He took Mabel's little cold hand, and pressed it between his warm fingers, and ceased to laugh at her, and walked quickly, and was even silent at her bidding. By degrees, Mabel leaned all her weight on Loftus, and took no notice of Kate, who, for her part, held herself erect, and walked up the avenue with a half-aggrieved, half-scornful look on her face, and with some anxiety in her heart.